


Inwit's Son

by AEC22115



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEC22115/pseuds/AEC22115
Summary: This is a small story of how an Infant Rogal Dorn ended up on Inwit and was found by his "grandfather".
Kudos: 19





	Inwit's Son

**Author's Note:**

> Just an extremely small exercise in writing!
> 
> I've looked far and wide for information about Inwit but found very little, and have no idea what his grandfather's name canonically is. If this is in some way inaccurate, please tell me!
> 
> Title changed: 12/10/19

He knew only safety and peace here. The calming presence of his siblings, the soft slosh of the fluid that held and nourished him.

And the voice and words of a man his growing intellect knew as Father.

"Number Seven," he crooned. "My lucky number seven. My seventh wonder of the world."

There was love and belonging. Hints of a great future for he and his brothers.

And he was content, to learn and grow in the blessed safety Father provided.

Then one day, Chaos descended upon all of them. Helpless, yet unborn, they cried out for Father as they were snatched away from their place of safety. The pain of separation, not only from Father but from each other, was almost unbearable. It was enough to sow the seeds of madness and Chaos into those with more sensitive minds.

Number Seven endured the fetid grasp of Chaos, already bracing for whatever may come.

There was a horrible laugh, then the sensation of falling. Falling hard and fast.

There was a sudden jolt, and a scream of something being rent asunder. Steam filed Seven's natal pod, then searing cold. But he had finally stopped and the genetically blessed adaptation to his surroundings began. Relentless ice and cold. There were people nearby, he vaguely sensed, and he knew eventually he would be found.

___________________________________________________________________=I=__________________________________________________________

Ninoq, Lord of House Dorn and its dependent castes, saw the anomaly fall, strike Glaciar Rogalan hard enough to cleave a wall of it off. He tore himself away from the ancient telescopic array and began issuing orders to his personal honor guard to prepare to move out.

Ten minutes later, twenty men and women wrapped in furs, leather, and armor, and armed with heavy rifles and harpoon guns, raced across the packed snow on their ice speeders.

Under Inwit's eerie twilight and writhing borealis, they sped toward the glacier, Lord Dorn at the lead.

Soon the magnificent and regal crest of the glacier came into sight. Grand old Rogalan. Named for a god of ice, it had stood inviolate for ages. but now, its handsome face was marked by the strange anomaly that fell from the sky.

Lord Dorn powered down his speeder and advanced without waiting for back up. At a hundred years old, and the undisputed king of half the folk of Inwit, Ninoq feared little. 

He noted the cleaved ice, turned to slush by impossible heat, then he saw it. The strange fallen object that had caused such wreckage.

It was almost three feet in length, ovoid in shape and silver in color. Steam still radiated from this strange object. Just as Ninoq was about to move closer, his daughter Anaka stopped him.

"Father, please. We don't know what it is. Get the tox team to deal with this."

Ninoq shrugged his daughter's worries off easily. Something in this capsule called to him.

"For better or worse we must deal with it."

He reached his gloved and armored hands out to rest on the warm pod. The number 7 in the old tongue was engraved on the side. Lord Dorn's armored fingers were deft enough to find the latch and twist it open.

His guard gathered close to their lord as the pod's lid slowly rose. Then there was a light, bright and warm that made the onlookers drop to their knees. As the bright vermeil light engulfed them Ninoq heard a sweet clear voice sing in his mind, "this my son, the seventh of his kind. Treat him as if he was your own"

Transfixed, Ninoq leaned forward and saw a bundle of soft white blankets. They were moving. Hesitantly, Lord Dorn pulled the covers back to reveal a small, perfect newborn boy. Everyone stared at this strange child in utter shock. He was not what they were expecting.

The wind picked up and it brought Ninoq back to reality. He carefully closed the capsule and lifted it.

"We're going home"

Once back in the safety and warmth of the Dorn enclosure, Ninoq carefully opened the pod and lifted the child out to examine him. The baby's skin was a pale ivory-blush color, his eyes the color of the Inwittian twilight, and his soft hair the color of new snow.

It was almost as if Inwit herself had borne a son.

Ninoq smiled and cradled the babe in his arms. "Rogal. I shall call you Rogal after the old god of ice and glaciers. You shall be my new grandson, Rogal Dorn."

Content to be held and warm, Rogal gave his new grandfather his first smile.


End file.
